"For goodness sake, Rose, stop noodling around on that vile excuse for an instrument! Get over here and help us with these flowers! Your father's wedding won't plan itself!"
I rolled my eyes, continuing to strum away at the strings of my guitar that my grandmother had so courteously nicknamed 'that vile excuse for an instrument'. I hummed a tune, playing around with the harmonies and reveling in the way they melded with the birds and the wind and the leaves. I leaned back against the tree behind me and stretched out my long legs, bronzed from hours playing my guitar on the beach. Just a five minute walk from my small house in Key West, the beach was quiet and peaceful, perfect for getting away from life.
I'd spent the most time there after my mom died.
My father's new fiancée was nothing like my mother. My mom had been quiet, yet everything she did spoke a thousand words. Lucille (or my step-monster-to-be, as I liked to call her) was boisterous, and nearly everything that came out of her mouth was nonsense. Mom had been an artist in a million ways, on a canvas or an instrument or in a notebook. Lucille was a lawyer's secretary.
But despite my low opinion of Lucille, my father seemed at his best around her, as did she around him. So, for that, I accepted that they would be married. However, my acceptance did not warrant spending hours on a flower arrangement that would be wrecked in a day. I left that to my old-fashioned grandmother and my two aunts, all of whom thought that Lucille was 'such a sweetheart' and 'simply marvelous', unlike me, who was a disaster in all aspects; my sense of fashion was dreadful, my hair the most horrendous colour, and I wasted all my time on the "ghastly sounding device" that was my guitar. In simpler words, I was a sore disappointment.
I set my guitar down in front of me, rotating myself to lie down on the cool grass. My grandmother's summer home may have been a somber, empty place, but I had to admit that the vast stretches of land surrounding the property merited some credit. In the middle of the property was the house itself. Surrounding the house in all directions was about fifty metres of land, then a pond out the front of the house and a huge forest in the back. My twin brother, Alfie, was probably out exploring the forest with my father. Lucky for them, the only task they were obliged to do for the wedding was heavy lifting, most of which had been done the day before.
I sighed, and stood up, walking towards the pond. It was a clear blue, thanks to the beautiful, cloudless sky and the bright sunshine. I could see a few tiny bugs flitting around the surface of the pond, and some fish swishing their tails underwater. I slipped my shoes off and rustled through the tall grass surrounding the pond, stopping just at the edge. I dipped my toe in, and jerked it back almost immediately from its' sudden cold touch. The water rippled from the spot where my toe made contact and the bugs zipped away, panicking from the sudden wave that washed over their tiny bodies.
It really would've been quite a peaceful moment, if I hadn't fallen in.
Actually, it felt more like I was pushed in. But when came up to the surface of the water, coughing and sputtering, and looked around the perimeter of the pond, I saw nobody. So when my grandmother stormed over and started screaming at me for my clumsiness, I opted out of telling her that I could've sworn I felt someone's hands on my back pushing me in. I didn't need her to think any less of me than she already did.
I dragged myself out of the water, dripping and freezing. I rolled my eyes as she shrilled,
"Rose Sophia Williams, why can't you be more like sweet Lucille? Poised, soft spoken, and pretty as a petunia… You're just the disgraceful spawn of that strange mother of yours." My jaw clenched and my hands curled up into tiny, white fists. I told myself to ignore her. I was used to her degrading me, after all, and I didn't care so much that she hated me. "She was always a little out of it, stuck in the clouds, I always thought there was something wrong with her… mentally deranged, or something. My handsome Pat deserved much better than her, and I always told him that but he never listened. I wasn't surprised at all when she killed herself, probably for the best-"
I heard the crack before I registered the pain in my fingers. I saw the blood before I realized what I'd done. My grandmother, always the perfectly groomed little lady, had the entirety of her lower face covered in blood and her cool, gray gaze was stabbing me right in the eyes. A little part of me told me to feel guilty, but the enraged look on my grandmother's face made me feel better. I could take a little jab at my own ego; my mother was a whole other matter. I never understood the deep hatred that my grandmother held for my mother by I was always of the firm opinion that my mother was the greatest woman who ever lived and no matter what my grandma said, I would always believe that.
"Why you vile little berk! How dare you! I'll be telling your father about this as soon as he gets back, he needs to set you straight!" I rolled my eyes at her lame insult. "Don't you roll your eyes at me young lady! I'll teach you to-" she raised a hand to slap me but I ducked out of the way, picked up my shoes, and dashed around the house and into the forest. Maybe my father would get angry at me for hitting his mother, but once I told him what she said about my mom, he would understand.
841Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvSuO1cCEPh
841Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡF1ZCXS3CBv
I shivered as I trudged through the mud and fallen leaves of the forest. I was already regretting my decision to come find my dad and brother. They were probably back at the house getting an earful about how inconsiderate and violent I was. Alfie would probably laugh his head off when he heard what I did.
I almost decided to back to the house, when I heard someone calling for help. It was faint, but loud enough for my ears to follow the noise.
"Help!" it cried. "Help me, I'm lost!" I quickened my pace, and within seconds, I found a little boy crouched in a ball in the middle of a clearing. He was rocking back and forth, muttering under his breath about monsters chasing him.
"Hello? What's your name?" I asked cautiously, reaching a hand out.
He cringed. "L-l-lyon."
"Well, Lyon, why don't I help you find your way home? I live just out there," I said, pointing back to the house, "and we can call the police or something. Would you like that?"
He glanced at me suspiciously, still rocking back and forth. "My big brother told me never to trust anyone, especially not strangers."
I smiled. "Well, your big brother is a smart guy. What's his name?"
He paused before answering, "Luke."
I nodded. "So how about we go find Luke, hm?"
He didn't respond, but he stood up, and took hold of my hand. The moment his skin made contact with mine, the world went black.
I received a flood of images upon touching Lyon's hand. Punching my grandmother. Learning that my father would be marrying Lucille. Finding my mother lying on the floor with a knife in her stomach and her blood soaking the carpet around her. It was as though every bad memory I ever experienced was coming forth to haunt me, punishing me for a crime I didn't commit. My legs screamed in pain, remembering being broken in the third grade. I bit my lip and squeezed my eyes shut tight, willing Lyon to stop whatever he was doing and leave me be. I couldn't understand why he was doing this, how he was doing this. Stop! I screamed in my head. Please, Lyon, stop whatever you're doing! I'll take you back to your brother just please stop!
After what seemed like ages, the pain in my legs subsided and my mind was my own again. I opened my eyes just a crack, and saw four images of Lyon moving from side to side. My head was killing me. I tried to stand up, then fell back down. Just before I passed out again, I heard the faint whisper of Lyon's voice.
"Weak."841Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡek5VIB7VtR
